


Tart

by darkandstormyslash



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Rough Sex, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Breathplay, Car Sex, Corsetry, Crossdressing, Groping, M/M, Prostitution, corset tightening, disturbing fantasies, handjobs, references to rough sex, tommy in humiliating situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-10 19:13:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15955733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: A Peaky Blinders Prostitution AU. Peaky Blinders is a brothel, the boys all work there, Alfie's smitten, and Tommy is getting far too mixed up in things he shouldn't be...Written for Simonon - after all of the awesome comments I figured you deserved some nice lingerie smut :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simonon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonon/gifts).



Very few of the Peaky Blinders clients are allowed to use the back door. The back door is for tradesmen and trusted friends only. Not least because while the front of the brothel is swanky and plush, or at least as clean and inviting as Polly can make it, the back is a cobbled side-alley scattered with abandoned newspapers and smelling faintly of piss.

Alfie Solomons very rarely comes in the back way because he knows Polly disapproves and he is technically a paying client. Today is different though and he shuffles along the cobbles, his cane giving a poke at the wobbly brick where Freddie Thorne has stashed a spare set of clothes for when he needs to exit quickly. The back door is unlocked, and Alfie gently pushes it open, stepping into the Peaky Blinders brothel. The Blinders brothel caters for a rather specific clientele - the kind of women, and occasionally men, who like to feel they're getting a bit of rough without any of the inconvenient discomfort. Polly, bless her, knows exactly what she's doing with her nephews and keeps the place running at a profit. John Shelby has a reputation that bored upper-class housewives will pay handsomely to try out, and Arthur can pull off dashing and dangerous in the right kind of suit. As for Tommy...

Alfie nods at Ada and Freddie Thorne bundled together in an alcove, rolling his eyes as they spring apart guiltily. Worlds worse kept secret, Alfie doesn't know why they even bother. He heads towards the back staircase, stopping politely as Ada scurries up to him.

"You mustn't tell Polly, Mister Solomons, or Tommy, lord if he finds out..."

Alfie makes a non-committal hum at the ceiling.

"If it's Tommy you're here for he has a client in ten minutes." Ada continues a little apologetically. Alfie's status is uncertain, while he pays for Tommy on a semi-regular basis they also have plenty of meetings which don't involve any exchange of money, and don't always involve sex either. "I can book you in day after tomorrow if you're looking for-"

Alfie stops her with a little shake of the head, "Won't keep him long."

"I don't think Polly would be happy with -"

"Let's not tell her then."

Alfie continues up the stairs, his feet treading their familiar way to Tommy's room. It's the largest in the house, even though Arthur is the oldest and John is the most popular, Tommy is the one that rakes in the most money. Not all of it from prostitution, and even less of it legal. Alfie knocks gently on the door, and when he gets no reply he pushes it open. It's not locked, they never are when a client is expected because the last thing any Jane or John wants to find is their evenings entertainment trapped behind a locked door.

And tonight Tommy certainly looks ...entertaining.

Alfie carefully shuts the door behind him. Tommy's sat on the bed, facing away, but there's a full length mirror in front of him and Alfie knows he's been spotted. Instead of the usual suit Tommy's in a full set of rather old-fashioned lingerie - a powder blue corset over a lacy white chemise, the laces hanging loose down his back. The drawers beneath are lacy and short, and Alfie can see in the mirror that they're split in the middle for easy, and visible, access.

Slowly, Alfie licks his lips. Tommy's gaze flickers up to him in the mirror. "This isn't your slot, Mister Solomons."

"Pity." Alfie grunts.

"Campbell will be here in five minutes." Tommy points out, but he doesn't ask Alfie to leave. His voice sounds accusatory but not angry, if anything he seems more annoyed about the prospect of Campbell appearing than Alfie being here now.

Alfie clears his throat, "I need you down in London tomorrow. Escort duty. I've got a meeting and I need someone there on my arm."

The interest fades out of Tommy's eyes. He turns his attention back to himself in the mirror, and Alfie notices his eyes have been given a thin layer of khol, "Speak to Polly."

"It's a meeting with Sabini." Alfie says quietly, stepping forward, "You might like to do a bit more there than look pretty. You might like to listen."

Tommy stands up, finally turning to face Alfie in person. He picks up the trailing laces from the corset and holds them out. "If you're here you might as well be useful. Nobody books anything the day after an evening with Campbell, not after what he did to Arthur."

Alfie takes a step forward that's maybe a bit too obviously eager, leaning his cane against the bed and gently turning Tommy back around. He picks up the laces, running them through his fingers, then twists up and gives a short, sharp yank hearing Tommy gasp as the corset tightens. "Not my date to chose, sweetheart, it's going ahead whether you're there or not."

"What, a-ah, what time." Alfie yanks on the laces again, watching Tommy's eyes flicker closed. He can't help but wonder how far he could tighten them. Maybe until Tommy was struggling for breath, his waist tight and aching, air forced out of him with every movement. Face red and gasping, body twitching. Alfie wonders if he could kill Tommy here and now, watching his face in the mirror as he finally breathed his last.

"Starts at six." He answers instead, giving the laces one last good tug just to hear Tommy groan, tying them up just a little tighter than strictly comfortable. He moves his hands to either side of the corset, cupping it gently. "Any chance you could wear this?"

"Not under a suit." Tommy whispers, his body gently leaning back until it fits snugly into Alfie's, letting the large hands hold him in place around the slender waist, "It'll - fuck how tight did you lace it - it'll show."

"You look like a diamond." Alfie rumbles, gently nuzzling the back of Tommy's neck because he knows he's the only one who can get away with distracting Tommy moments before a paying client walks in. Sure enough, he can see Tommy's cock rising through the front of the lacy drawers. "Fucking diamond, I don't want him having this Tommy really I don't, I don't want that bent copper getting hold of you, he doesn't deserve something this pretty..."

"I look, g-get off, I look like a bloke in frilly pants." Tommy grumbles, making absolutely no move to stop the warm hand that moves down from his waist to surround and squeeze his emerging cock. "And tomorrow I'll look like I've been run over by a racehorse and poured into a suit, last thing I'll want is to stand in a cold hall in London being condescended to by Darby Sabini."

"Shhh ... don't be daft." He can't leave a mark, Alfie knows, but he desperately wants to and he can't stop his mouth slipping forward, his teeth snapping sharp and sudden at a small patch of skin on the back of Tommy's neck. Maybe Campbell won't notice it, maybe he will. Tommy yelps and squirms and swears at him and Alfie holds him still until he calms down. "You're coming to London, Tommy Shelby, and you're coming in that corset. Nobody will realise and those that do, well, they'll only underestimate you more."

"Bastard." Tommy says with feeling, leaning back again to rest his head into Alfie's chest. "It'll cost extra."

"I'll pay."

There's the tread of boots on the stairs, and a different cane knocks against the carpets outside. Alfie pats Tommy's hair straight, gives a final squeeze of his cock, then disappears out the side door behind the hanging certain. He gives a final glance at the mirror as he leaves just to see Tommy flushed and red-faced, in pale blue silk and lace, a hard red cock jutting out between soft feminine underthings.

That'll have to last until he gets back to London


	2. Chapter 2

Ada laces him up this time, tutting and shaking her head at the marks Campbell has left on his thighs and back, "You shouldn't be working today."

"He didn't mark my face, I can work." Tommy replies, although that's not the real reason. He knows he's only doing this because it's Alfie, and there's the tantalising promise of hearing more about Sabini's brothels in London.

"You shouldn't be working." Ada grumbles, "And you shouldn't lace these so tight. It's not meant to be uncomfortable, it's meant to be supportive."

"It's meant to support tits, and I haven't got any." Tommy takes a breath, then slowly lets it out, letting his ribcage shrink and collapse. "Tighter."

"You need to breath."

"He wants it tight."

Ada sighs, but yanks on the laces until Tommy feels the constraint like a tight band across his chest. He shrugs his suit on over the top, smoothing his hands over where he knows the corset is. It feels awkward, uncomfortable, like a hidden guilty secret. It might be unnoticeable, Tommy doesn't know, because to him it both feels and looks terribly and monstrously obvious that he's wearing womens underwear.

The car journey down to London judders and jolts him all the way, making him regret lacing the corset so tight so soon. But he doesn't know how to tie it himself and he can hardly ask anyone in London to do it for him. Or rather there's one person in London he could ask to lace the corset, but it seems a tad churlish given that's the person paying him to be in it.

Alfie Solomons. Tommy rests his head against the window and tries not to think too much about Alfie Solomons. It's easier when they're simply client and whore - then he can relax and enjoy himself in the safe knowledge that it's purely a business transaction. This time though, with Alfie taking him down to London and showing him all the secrets he needs to expand the Peaky Blinders down south, there's a little more mixed up in their relationship. Tommy doesn't want to spend the rest of his life as a whore, and he gets the feeling Alfie doesn't want him to either. Why, Tommy doesn't know, or rather he can guess but he tries not to think too hard about it.

London is as foggy, damp and unpleasant as always. Alfie meets him in Camden, his hands going straight to Tommy's waist to check that the corset is there, "You got it on Tommy? Good, good, makes up for you being late."

"You said six." Tommy murmurs back. Somehow he always feels more relaxed around Alfie. Despite the fact that the job is only just starting it feels like the hardest part of the day is over. "It shouldn't take us more than twenty minutes to get there."

"The meeting starts at six." Alfie complains, "But what if I want you stripped and ravished first, eh love? I haven't got time for that now, have I?"

Tommy finds a smile twitching at his face and suddenly the whole horrible journey and unpleasant night with Campbell seems almost worth it. "You could always do it in the car."

Alfie's eyes widen as the idea strikes him, "We could, Tommy my boy, we could very much do it in the car."

The car is small and cramped and utterly devoid of lube. Tommy's eyes roll back as Alfie's cock jolts up inside the aching tissue that Campbell ruined last night. One of Alfie's hands is rubbing the side of the corset, the other wraps around Tommy's neck and takes out any remaining oxygen Tommy can drag into his burning lungs. Tommy gasps and chokes and cums, over and over and over, while Alfie murmurs soothing little words and pets him softly.

"There you go, yeah, there you go. Needed that didn't you, after that fucking copper. I don't like it, Tommy, I don't like him treating you like that."

By the time they reach Sabini's club Tommy is a mess. He tugs his suit straight with trembling hands, pulling the cap down as far over his eyes as he can get away with. His arse is burning, he can't walk straight, his suit smells very obviously of cum, and his breath is hitching under the corset. He could not look any more obviously fucked. Tommy can't even meet the doorman's eye as Alfie's hand on his back firmly shepherds him into the club.

Inside it's even worse. It doesn't help that all of the Italians are dressed impeccably whereas the most generous thing that can be said about Alfie's outfit is that most of it appears to be the right size. Tommy stumbles forward, eyes on the floor, knowing he looks a mess and is making an even worse fool of himself. He should be watching and listening, learning and remembering, and instead he's just staggering around smelling of cum feeling like a wreck. He feels a hand land on his shoulder and looks up to find they're at the entrance to a private room, with Sabini and a few close associates inside looking less than pleased.

"Invited guests only." The man at the door snaps, the hand on Tommy's shoulder firm.

It's the perfect out, but now he's here Tommy doesn't want to take it. He's made it this far, he's going all the way. Reaching forward he insolently tugs a packet of cigarettes out of the doorman's front pocket and puts one in his mouth. "Mister Solomons invited me."

"He's with me." Alfie confirms helpfully.

Suddenly there's power in looking cheap. Tommy gives the man a nod, then gives another to Sabini who scowls at him.

"Alfie ... really?"

Alfie ignores him, sitting down on the offered chair. Quietly and carefully, Tommy folds himself down in the corner, crouching on the floor.

Sabini's look is strongly dissaproving, "Can't he wait outside?"

Alfie gives an expressively wide-eyed shrug. Tommy doesn't move.

"It's just when you do things like this, Mister Solomons, when you drag a rent boy into my club for a private meeting, it makes me feel you disrespect me, do you understand?" Tommy can tell Sabini is spittingly angry about something, and trying to hide it. "I want to do business with you Alfie, I really do, but I need to know you are being straight with me."

Alfie's eyes grow even wider, "Do I have any reason not to be, eh? Is there any reason I might have for not giving you my full attention, and my full support?"

Sabini gives an irritated glare, "If you want a boy, Mister Solomons, you can get one from my brothels any time. You know that, don't you? Any time, any choice." His eyes flicker to Tommy again, "No need for this really, is there?"

Tommy isn't sure whether Sabini is more annoyed that Alfie's brought a whore into the room, or that it's a non-Sabini-owned whore. Either way it's clear Alfie's making a point by bringing him, and even more clear that it's had the desired effect. He blows smoke up towards the ceiling and isn't all that surprised when Alfie nods at him.

"Go on Tommy, wait outside, yeah? Private meeting here."

Slowly Tommy unfoldes himself, wrapping arms around Alfie's shoulders from behind and murmuring gently, "I don't feel safe out there alone Mister Solomons."

Sabini makes an irritated sound, Alfie rolls his eyes, "Any of those filthy fuckers outside touch you, and you just let me know, right?"

Nobody outside the room shows the slightest interest in Tommy as he staggers out, making his way as quickly as he can to the nearest bathrooms and practically ripping off the corset as soon as he gets inside. The breath gulps desperately into his lungs, coming out in a frustrated growl. His hand swings forward into the mirror, still tangled up in the laces, smashing into the glass in a protective layer of silks and lace.

He can't live much more of his life like this.

Tommy knows he needs to be out there, listening and planning. He knows he needs to be waiting for Alfie, to learn from him as much as he can about Sabini's brothels and how best to steal them for Blinders brothels. He needs to move, he needs to think, he needs to stay strong.

He just needs a few minutes first. Just to catch his breath.


	3. Chapter 3

Tommy is outside having a smoke when Alfie finishes, leaning against the brickwork of the club and watched by a grumpy looking bouncer who doesn't seem very pleased about having to wait in the rain. Alfie joins him, looking rather displeased himself, his cane knocking against Tommy's chest, "What are you doing out here, eh Tommy lad? Thought you'd be inside, buzzing around finding out what it is you need to find."

"What is it that I need to find, Mister Solomons?" Tommy answers, stubbing out the cigarette.

The cane knocks a little harder against his chest, "You took that corset off, didn'tcha?"

"I couldn't breath."

Alfie shakes his head and knocks the cane against Tommy's chest again, and the best thing Tommy can think of to do is launch himself forward, grab hold of Alfie's jacket and kiss him.

There's a little noise of surprise from under Alfie's lips and Tommy breaths it in. For a moment Alfie gives in, and his mouth tastes of smoke and whiskey under Tommy's tongue. Then he pulls away, hands on Tommy's shoulders, head shaking. "No, no, Tommy, I am a little bit disappointed at you, really I am. You could've got a lot more out of that meeting."

"Did you get everything you wanted?" Tommy snaps back at him, "Don't pretend you invited me there to help me out, Alfie, not when all you needed was some whore to show Sabini."

"Is that what you are, Tommy?" Alfie waves at his car as it trundles slowly towards them, arms stiff and jerking. "Just some whore?"

"I don't know." Tommy answers, pushing past Alfie to wrench the car door open, "That's how you treat me, isn't it? Fill me up with cum and push me into a club full of Italians to prove to them you don't need their brothels?"

Alfie collapses heavily into the seat next to him and Tommy can see an anger in his face that makes his arse throb. He can't take another rough fucking, not tonight, but he knows if he backs down now Alfie will ruin him. "You worry about your own business, Mister Solomons, and let me worry about mine."

"The thing is Tommy." it's said with great difficulty, and he can tell Alfie is ragingly furious, "Is that now you are my business, aren't you?"

"I don't have to be."

Alfie's arm shoots out, but Tommy is ready for it, ducking underneath the hold and surging forward to attack with another kiss. His hand connects with warm leather, Alfie's wraps back around his neck, and he's kissed through the heady and by now fairly familiar feeling of not having enough air. Alfie growls and pushes and seems unsure quite how to react until Tommy's face moves away and then he lands a heavy open-palm slap across Tommy's face that knocks him back against the car seat.

Tommy looks up, panting gently, the side of his face painted red. Alfie looks even more uncertain, and even faintly ashamed.

"The thing is Tommy, really, I never told you to take that bloody corset off did I? I mean did I? And I paid for it, I'm sure I did, so there wasn't any need for that now."

Absolutely none of what's happening has anything to do with the corset. Tommy knows that, and he's pretty sure Alfie knows it as well.

"You tore it up as well, and it was pretty that, pretty and expensive and ..." but Alfie seems to have reached the end of whatever fuse he's been running off, and his hands reach for Tommy desperately. Large hands tug his clothes away, pawing him roughly into place and Tommy doesn't have either the energy or the strength to do anything to stop it. It seems like a strange disturbing sort of dream as Alfie positions him vaguely upright and seated, rips his trousers out of the way, then forces himself downwards. Tommy feels his eyes roll back up into his head, his cock and brain unable to cope with what is happening.

Alfie is riding him, and riding him well.

He's had clients before that have wanted his cock. Usually simpering, twitching little upper class men, over-excited young debutants, or bored accountants. Alfie has always taken his arse, it's been a sort of unspoken rule between them. Now here he is, exhausted and wrecked, sat in a car with Alfie bouncing on his cock.

Not that it's gentle. Alfie's hand is in the top of his hair, wrenching his head back, while his legs slam down into Tommy's thighs with each stroke. Tommy feels like he's breaking up and slowly drifting away - each component part of him sliding off and out of this world, too disturbed by the current reality. When Alfie cums Tommy does too, with Alfie's hand around his neck and his cock numb and sore.

"I just want one thing Tommy, yeah?" Alfie pants, "One thing in this world that ain't dirty and sordid and fucked. Is that too much to ask? One thing that ain't broken or damaged."

Tommy tips back his head and stares up at the top of the car. "If that's the case, Mister Solomons, then I think you've chosen the wrong thing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry guys, this is what came out this is what we get :p
> 
> I think this is one of the first Peaky Blinders Prostitution AUs, but it should be no means be the last. If anyone else wants to continue it, or use the same world, or just re-write this one in a less shit way you are more than free. It's all Steven Knight's sandbox, I just play in it.
> 
> I'm not sure why this piece exists or quite what I'm trying to say with it. I think the overall message I've got out of it is that in any universe Tommy is a conniving little social climber and him and Alfie are mutually self-destructive. Also I should let Tommy top every once in a while, particularly if he's utterly wrecked by doing so.


End file.
